


A Cryptic Courtship

by Morvidra



Series: Erebor Reclaimed [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Communication Failure, Courting Rituals, Cultural Differences, Don't copy to another site, Language of Flowers, M/M, Minor Kíli/Tauriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21704539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra
Summary: Even though it's winter, Bilbo is determined to offer Thorin the proper floral courting gifts.There's just a couple of problems.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Erebor Reclaimed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587025
Comments: 17
Kudos: 244
Collections: Have A Happy Hobbit Holiday 2019





	A Cryptic Courtship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VIXI17XVII](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VIXI17XVII/gifts).



It was a most unfortunate situation, Bilbo mused, that Erebor should have been reclaimed just in time for the onset of winter.

Not, he hastened to add even in the privacy of his own mind, that he was sorry to see the ancient Dwarf kingdom rescued from the Dragon. He was, in fact, quite pleased to think that he had played his own small part in saving Erebor. And he was particularly pleased that, in just a few short weeks, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór of the line of Durin would be crowned King under the Mountain.

“It’s just the dratted winter that’s the problem,” he muttered to himself. “Not a flower in sight, even if most of the trees hadn’t been burned down by Smaug the Terrible. Botheration to it all!”

As Bilbo’s monologue was both lengthy and disjointed, the interested reader may prefer a summary of the situation. In short, then, Bilbo Baggins had discovered in himself a deep love for the soon-to-be-crowned Thorin Oakenshield, and wished to find out whether or not his love was returned.

It might be thought that this would be a simple matter of seeking audience with his beloved and professing his love. However, it must be remembered that Bilbo was a Hobbit. Hobbits like above all things to be comfortable, and you cannot be comfortable when you have laid your heart bare. And so, when a Hobbit wished to express admiration, affection, or devotion, they would do so by gifting a flower. Each variety of flower held a different and specific meaning, and every Hobbit grew up knowing the infinite possibilities to be found in the flower language.

“But flowers don’t bloom in winter,” Bilbo grumbled, “and even if they did, I doubt the local blossoms are anything like the ones back in the Shire. It is so very difficult!

“I do wonder,” he added, for Bilbo was much in the habit of talking out loud regardless of listeners, “how my father managed the situation, when my mother was away on so many adventures through their courtship. Perhaps he sent dried flowers, which is of no use in my situation. Why! of course!” he cried suddenly, slapping his knee. “I recall hearing that he used to write her letters, and draw flowers in the margins. Well, the solution here seems quite simple – I will draw the flowers I wish to present, and let the pictures speak for me.”

Bilbo nodded briskly, quite pleased with his solution, and trotted towards the door of his room. On opening it, he nearly tripped over a small parcel that sat neatly on the doormat.

“Well, that is strange,” he said, picking it up. It was quite a small package, and was neatly tied with plain string. Bilbo carried it back to his desk to open.

Inside the wrapping was a small box which, when opened, revealed a large silver brooch set with coloured stones. They did not appear to be gemstones, to Bilbo’s eyes, as they were polished rather than faceted. Nonetheless they had a certain beauty to them.

A slip of paper had also been tucked inside the box. Bilbo pulled this free and held it up to the light.

“‘Wear this, and I will know what to think’,” he read. “And no signature. Well! I certainly wish that I knew what to think of all this, but I do not. How very puzzling!”

Bilbo placed the paper back in the box, which he then closed and placed inside his desk. Further investigation might be necessary, but in the meantime, he had some much more important matters to attend to.

* * *

Bilbo had, of course, forgotten one thing when settling on his plan. He had never in his life learned to draw anything more complicated than a child’s picture, let alone to draw flowers. As for drawing an apple-blossom branch entirely from memory, without so much as a picture before him for reference … let it suffice to say that he was finding it a challenge.

Bilbo was forced to admit that his drawings were not the best. He consoled himself with the thought that he had, at least, progressed in quality of illustration. Admittedly, this was not saying a great deal. Most of the crumpled paper beneath the desk could be blamed on Bilbo’s first attempts. A small number of semi-acceptable drawings were now spread across the desk, where Bilbo stared at them in some dismay.

“The question,” he said finally, “is which of these would most closely resemble apple-blossom to someone who hadn’t been told in advance.” He looked again. “Or perhaps I should write the flower name in the corner.”

Writing his name would, unfortunately, remove any hope of anonymity from the process. Not even Thorin could mistake Bilbo’s spidery handwriting for the thick, blunt script used by the Dwarves.

He consoled himself with the fact that after all, he wasn’t illustrating a botanical herbal, and it was the thought that counted. Seizing his completed sketch firmly, Bilbo marched from the room.

A few moments later, he returned to exchange the sketch for the correct one.

* * *

The drawing had been tucked under Thorin’s door, and Bilbo had slipped silently away, pluming himself on not having been seen.

Unfortunately, after three days of no reaction from Thorin, Bilbo was forced to conclude that the drawing had not had the desired effect. Well, it had been a little difficult to make out the subject, if he was honest. No-one could be blamed for their failure to read an illegible message. What he really needed was an artist.

An idea crossed Bilbo’s mind.

* * *

“Flowers?” Ori looked baffled. “Aren’t they… green?”

“No, leaves are green,” Bilbo said patiently. “Flowers are the colourful bits on top.”

“Oh.” Ori still seemed puzzled. “Well I’ll try, but I don’t really know what they look like.”

“They all look different, but I’m not asking you to draw all of them,” Bilbo said. “Just one type. Have you ever seen a moss rosebud?”

Ori’s eyes darted back and forth. “How would I tell if I had?”

“They’re sort of…” Bilbo waved his hands about vaguely… “floral.” He was aware that the explanation lacked a certain something. “Look, if I describe one to you, could you try to draw it?”

“I suppose,” Ori said unenthusiastically. “You might need to give me a bit more to go on than ‘floral’, though.”

“Naturally, my dear fellow.” Bilbo paced the room a couple of times, considering how to begin. “The petals are very tightly furled,” he said at last.

“Like an umbrella?”

“No of course not – er, well, actually yes,” Bilbo said in confusion. “Although the pointy bit is at the top. And then it’s surrounded by a second ‘umbrella’, which is the sepals. Those are green,” he added helpfully.

“I thought you said leaves were the green bit,” Ori muttered.

“Sepals are green as well,” Bilbo said firmly. “And these should be slightly spiky.”

“Like a sword?”

“No, no, oh dear no. They’re rather like ferns, actually.”

“I don’t know what ferns look like,” Ori said flatly.

Bilbo drew a deep breath. “If an Elf designed a spiked mace, it would look like a fern.”

Ori brightened. “You should have said that to start with!”

Bilbo sighed. It was clearly going to be a long process.

* * *

All things considered, Ori’s drawing really looked quite like a moss rosebud, Bilbo thought. That was to say, as long as one had never seen a moss rose plant, the drawing could easily be mistaken for a moss rosebud. Bilbo had taken the precaution of having Ori write the name of the flower below the sketch – the formal scribe’s script was a lot less identifiable than Bilbo’s handwriting would have been.

Bilbo felt a slight thrill as he tucked the picture under Thorin’s door. The ‘preference’ signified by the apple-blossom might have been subject to misunderstandings, but the moss rosebud’s ‘confession of love’ surely had only one possible interpretation.

Or so Bilbo had fondly believed, but as several days passed, Bilbo was forced to conclude that somehow, once again, his message had not been received. Thorin showed none of the signs of one who had received a flower message – he was, if anything, even more morose than usual.

Flower drawings, he decided, were not the answer. Unfortunately, the lack of fresh flowers remained a problem without an apparent solution.

* * *

“Nothing much happening today, is there?” Bofur commented at breakfast.

“Not a thing,” Fíli said promptly. “Very dull day, all round.”

“Clearing, sorting, excavating – all the usual sort of thing, I assume.” Bofur sighed. “Ah well, ‘twill be a pity for those of us who don’t have a friend visiting.”

Kíli, who had been half-asleep in his mug, jerked suddenly upright. “Friend… visiting?” he asked muzzily.

“Nothing to worry about,” Fíli reassured him. “There’s a supply caravan arriving this afternoon, is all.”

“Oh.” Kíli slumped back down.

“Passing through Mirkwood on the way,” Bofur added, at which Kíli’s head shot up again.

“I suppose it might be picking up some guards,” Fíli said innocently.

“I do believe it might be,” Bofur replied with equal innocence.

Kíli’s head was twitching between the two speakers. “Is she coming?” he finally blurted out.

“Why, whoever could you mean?” Fíli’s moustache was twitching a little too much to be convincing, in Bilbo’s opinion, but Kíli failed to notice.

“I wonder if he means that red-haired Elf lass!”

“Oh no, I’m sure Tauriel’s not coming with the caravan,” Fíli said reassuringly.

Kíli’s face fell. “Oh.” He reached for his mug again.

“She’ll be here this morning,” Fíli added at the appropriate moment. The whole table burst into roars of laughter as Kíli spluttered on his drink. Bofur pounded him on the back.

“Might want to get yourself cleaned up a bit, she’ll probably be here within the hour,” he recommended.

Bilbo chuckled as Kíli fled the room as if from dragonfire.

“Poor lad’ll be crushed when she wants to see Óin rather than him,” Bofur said, grinning.

“Well, when she and Óin have finished discussing healing supplies, I’m sure Kíli will get a look in.” Fíli rolled his eyes. “We’ll get no work out of him unless he gets to see her, in any case.”

At the mention of healing supplies, a thought occurred to Bilbo, and he came very close to choking on his own drink. A possible solution was finally before him.

* * *

“Tauriel, my dear girl, how are you?” Bilbo asked, cheerfully popping through the doorway.

“Mister Baggins!” Tauriel beamed at him. “A star shines upon the hour of our meeting, and you find me in excellent health. And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m quite well, thank you very much for asking.” Bilbo tutted briskly. “And it’s _Bilbo_ to you, how many times do I need to say it?”

“Respect for elders is very important to Elves,” Tauriel said, solemn-faced.

Bilbo sputtered. “ _Elders?_ My dear young lady, one of my years must appear the merest infant to you. Barely fifty-one years old – you can’t tell me that isn’t young for an Elf.”

“Mister Baggins, _I_ am young for an Elf,” Tauriel said, rolling her eyes. “ _You_ are middle-aged for a Hobbit. And I will respect you – or not – as I choose.”

“Oh, very well, very well,” Bilbo huffed, just as if they hadn’t had this same conversation upwards of twenty times. “In any case, I did actually come with a purpose today.”

Tauriel raised her brows. “The pleasure of my company was not enough? I am shocked.”

“Yes, well, given that we probably only have five minutes or so before your attention will be called elsewhere, I’m afraid I’ll have to come to the point and ask: do you keep any flowers in these supplies?”

“Flowers?” Tauriel blinked. “There are quite a few dried flowers here, but what kind do you seek?”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo fretted. “Well, there are any number of different kinds… peach-blossom?”

“No.”

“Heliotrope?”

“No.”

Bilbo sighed. “Well, may I ask what you have, then?”

“Poppies I have, for pain,” Tauriel listed. “Cornflower, passion flower, marigold…” She shrugged. “There are many.”

“Consolation, no use” Bilbo muttered. “Riches, belief, hardly appropriate. Grief, definitely not. Oh dear, this is very difficult.”

“I have some jessamine,” Tauriel suggested. “And tulips, if they would help.”

“Tulips!” Bilbo brightened. “Yes, I think the situation may warrant tulips. I would thank you very kindly, dear lady, if I might take one or two of them.”

“Of course,” Tauriel said. Bilbo couldn’t be certain whether she sounded amused or confused, but he gratefully took two flowers from the jar she offered him.

Tauriel seemed about to ask more questions, but at that point Kíli burst breathlessly through the door, and Bilbo made his exit.

He was a little doubtful about the tulips – dried tulips somehow didn’t look very much like the fresh blooms – but he suppressed his concerns. They would look quite nice when tied with a piece of ribbon and placed upon Thorin’s doormat. Here at last was a proper floral offering – a ‘declaration of love’, no less – and Bilbo Baggins was about to deliver his message.

* * *

He might as well not have bothered, for all the response it got.

* * *

It was a cold but sunny afternoon the next day, and a passing dropper of eaves might have heard Bilbo muttering as he stumped through the snow.

“… fireworks display? I’ll wager old Gandalf could make fireworks that look like flowers. But then again, how would anyone know who they were intended for? It wouldn’t do to have the whole Company convinced they were receiving a flower message. Botheration! Why can’t that silly Dwarf see what’s in front of his eyes?”

Up to this point, Bilbo had been resolute in following the Hobbit tradition of keeping the floral gifts anonymous until some acknowledgement was given by the recipient. He was, however, coming to the conclusion that the old traditions clearly hadn’t been intended to cope with the thick-headedness of Dwarves. There was nothing for it – he was simply going to have to present the next gift in person.

If only he could figure out what the next gift could be!

* * *

Here the flow of our narration must pause briefly, in order to ensure that the reader be acquainted with some matters of peripheral relevance to Bilbo’s story.

Like Men, and indeed like Elves, Hobbits were originally created by Eru Ilúvatar. Nonetheless, a popular belief among Men holds that Hobbits are the children of Yavanna. This is of course a fallacy, for Yavanna’s creations were Ents, and Entwives, and other beings beyond the scope of this tale. Hobbits themselves hold no such beliefs. But then, most Hobbits are down-to-earth creatures, and as a group, they spend little time thinking about any of the Valar. However, a race of creatures who spend their days planting and gardening cannot help being of interest to the Lady of all growing things. It may even be possible that the hand of Yavanna was stretched out over Erebor at this time, guiding the Hobbit who was so far from his land.

What is certain, however, is that at that very moment Bilbo rather unexpectedly found a cluster of early-growing jonquils.

* * *

It might be thought that Bilbo would seize upon these flowers with a glad cry, but let one thing be clear: Bilbo spent as much as a half-hour debating with himself before the blooms were finally, gently, plucked from the earth.

Bilbo’s dilemma was clear: these were quite probably the only fresh flowers he would be able to obtain without waiting for spring’s emergence in several months. Clearly, therefore, they were his best opportunity for delivering his floral message.

On the other hand, jonquils alone were not exactly the message Bilbo wished to send. To give a flower simply meaning ‘desire’… well, it was not inaccurate, but extremely incomplete. And yet, Bilbo was reluctant to pass them by.

The eventual decision was reached by means of Bilbo noticing that the nearby greenery included unflowering but lushly leafed examples of both myrtle and wild pink. A bouquet comprising these two mixed with the jonquils would give a balanced message, Bilbo thought: blossoming desire surrounded by evergreen love and entire devotion.

Filled with resolve, Bilbo marched off toward the gates of Erebor, clutching his flowers tightly. This time, he would leave nothing to chance.

* * *

Unfortunately, Thorin was not in his quarters.

* * *

Bilbo felt somewhat disconsolate as he sat with the Company after dinner that night. In truth, he was drooping more than his bouquet, which he had left stuck in his own nightstand jug. Fortunately for his own sense of pride, none of the Dwarves seemed to notice his dejection. Tauriel had departed the mountain again, and most of the Company were amusing themselves by chaffing Kíli.

“Courting an Elf is all trees, isn’t it?” Bofur asked with suspicious innocence.

“Not _all_ trees,” Kíli said dreamily. He was interrupted by a wave of laughter, and blushed to the ears. “That’s not – I don’t mean – shut _up_ , you lot.”

“Do tell us about the bits that aren’t trees,” Nori said, grinning.

“Spare my brotherly ears and don’t,” groaned Fíli.

Kíli glared impartially at the speakers. “We talk a lot,” he said through gritted teeth. “About stars. And sometimes rocks.”

“Oooooh! Talking about _rocks_ , eh?” someone hissed in a stage whisper. Someone else whistled.

“Now, now, let’s not tease the boy,” Bofur said, his eyes twinkling. “There’s no reason he shouldn’t talk about rocks with his lady love…”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“… I’m sure there are some quite polite rocks they could be discussing.”

“Garnet,” Fíli coughed.

“Jasper,” suggested Nori.

Bifur made a complicated gesture that had the entire room in fits of laughter. Even Kíli had to chuckle, though he was still rather pink.

“Certainly not,” he protested. “We’ve not known each other anywhere near long enough to be talking about that one, thank you very much!”

Bilbo blew a smoke ring and turned to Balin next to him. “What did Bifur say?”

“Rose quartz, the rascal,” Balin chuckled.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what that means.”

Balin’s jaw dropped, and he caught his pipe only just in time. “But surely – do you not have quartz in your Shire, then?”

Bilbo blinked. “Well, from context I’m assuming it’s a rock of some kind. Hobbits don’t really deal with rocks very much, you know.”

Balin’s face was comically shocked. “You don’t have the stone language?”

“We aren’t Dwarves,” Bilbo hissed back. “We don’t talk to stones!”

“The stone language isn’t talking _to_ stones; it’s talking _about_ them.” Balin frowned slightly. “Or more accurately, talking about stones while really talking about other things.”

Bilbo turned that statement over in his head a few times, but it made no sense no matter which way he looked at it. “Can you explain a little further?”

“Right. Well.” Balin puffed for a moment as he thought. “Pretend you’re a Dwarf for a moment, aye? And let’s say that, like young Kíli there, you’ve fallen in love. But you’re a bit shy of speaking it to the object of your affections, because you don’t know whether they feel the same way about you. Do you follow so far?”

“The situation is not unknown among Hobbits,” Bilbo said dryly.

“Aye, I’d imagine not.” Balin smiled briefly. “Now for a young Dwarf in this situation, the traditional thing to do is to present your love with a stone. Wealthy Dwarves will sometimes set the stone in a piece of jewellery, but the stone is all you need. Or multiple stones, depending on the message.”

“What’s the message: ‘here’s a rock you can throw at me if you don’t like me?’”

“It’s not unknown for the stone to be returned with some force,” Balin said, grinning. “But no: the message lies in the language of stones. Each kind of stone means something different. They’re not all to do with love and like – a piece of jade can be a wish for good luck, or a young Dwarf might be given fluorspar to aid them in concentration on their lessons.”

“Stones,” Bilbo said blankly. “Not flowers, but stones.” From the look Balin gave him, Bilbo suspected that dawning horror was showing on his face, but the situation was too serious to waste time trying to conceal it.

So there, plainly spelled out before him, was the reason for the lack of any response to his flower messages. Bilbo could barely believe that it had never occurred to him that Dwarves might not have the same system. Of course, in hindsight it made perfect sense, but at the time…

And then Bilbo was reminded of the anonymous gift that had been left for him with a message that he hadn’t understood – or, as he now realised, _two_ messages. ‘Wear this and I will know what to think’, indeed. As to the other message, Bilbo was still in the dark.

Balin was still looking at him with a worried expression, and Bilbo shook himself, making a concerted attempt to return to the conversation.

“And so… rose quartz?” he asked in a reasonable attempt at his normal voice. “What does that one mean?”

“Oh well now, that one is very much to do with love.” Balin still looked concerned, but smiled across the room at where Kíli was fending off the good-natured teasing. “Dwarves love but once in our lives, Mister Baggins. To give a gift of rose quartz is to say to the recipient: you have my heart, which will be given to you or to no-one. It’s not given lightly.”

Bilbo found himself possessed of a sudden, burning certainty of the identity of at least one of the stones in the brooch. Asking Balin seemed inappropriate, but surely…

“Right.” Bilbo tapped his pipe out briskly. “Would you do me a favour, Balin? Make sure no-one goes looking for me in the next hour or two.”

“What are you planning?” Balin asked with slight alarm.

“Building glasshouses,” Bilbo said cryptically. “Or possibly throwing stones,” he added as he exited the room.

* * *

Knocking on doors is slightly difficult when both your hands are full, but Bilbo persevered until the door was thrown open. Thorin’s expression was thunderous, although it cleared to merely cloudy at the sight of Bilbo.

“Oh good, you’re back.” Bilbo brushed past Thorin without waiting for an invitation. “Shut the door, will you – Balin promised to hold the rest of them as long as he can, but I don’t think we can rely on that being very long. Hobbiton is on loam, I believe.”

Thorin blinked. “What…?”

Bilbo continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Or maybe it was lime, I can’t quite remember what my gardener said, but it’s good for vegetables, apparently. Quite a large part of the Shire is on chalk – Michel Delving especially is known for its white hills. I think Brandy Hall is on clay, it’s so near to the river. But in any case, most of the Shire is arable farmland, and _that_ ,” Bilbo announced, slightly out of breath, “means that we don’t have a lot of stone around. So perhaps it won’t surprise you to learn that the first I ever heard of the language of stones was this evening, about an hour ago.”

Thorin’s expression froze, but Bilbo took no notice, instead brandishing a scroll. “And I should have been here sooner if I hadn’t wanted to hunt down a guide to the whole business so I could puzzle out the message which – I now realise – is contained within this brooch.” He brandished the brooch in his other hand. “Isn’t it?” he demanded.

“Yes.” Thorin’s voice was hoarse. “It is – I –”

“But then I thought,” Bilbo continued, ploughing ahead as if the king had never spoken, “well, I thought rather than spend my evening deciphering an old book and trying to tell one rock apart from the next, well, why not come to the sender and ask for a translation.

“So, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo held the brooch out on the palm of his hand, “do you want to tell me what this means?”

Thorin sat down, rather heavily, and without looking where he was sitting. Fortunately, there was a chair behind him.

“I am sorry,” Thorin said after a long silence. The words were slow but heartfelt. “It is no excuse, but it never occurred to me that you would not know. Every one among us has learned this language from infancy. When we are tiny pebbles held on our parents’ knees, we are told of the stone language. For an adult to not know it is virtually unknown. And yet… you are not a Dwarf. You were not raised with our traditions.” Thorin’s eyes met Bilbo’s. “I am ashamed, Master Baggins, to have blundered so colossally. The error is mine.”

“Now, now, now,” Bilbo said, interrupting the apology before it could turn into one of Thorin’s notoriously long speeches. “It was a perfectly natural assumption for you to make, under the circumstances.”

Thorin shook his head. “You shall not lift this burden of guilt from me.”

“Yes I will, confound it!” Bilbo snapped. “You are not the only one who made assumptions.”

A tense silence stretched between the two as they stared at each other. Bilbo wasn’t sure what his own face was doing, but Thorin’s expression moved slowly from self-loathing through puzzlement, until it reached the dawn of a wild surmise.

“The pictures,” Thorin said slowly. “The drawings. The dried… flowers. They were all flowers.”

Bilbo nodded. “Flowers don’t bloom in winter,” he said. “I had to make do with what I could get. It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t understand, either.”

The faintest smile began to appear on Thorin’s face, and Bilbo felt his own lips begin to curve in response. He held out the brooch again.

“What does it mean?” he asked quietly.

Thorin reached out, and Bilbo thought he would take the brooch, but instead he pointed to a stone.

“The small green stones, such as this one, are called aventurine,” he explained. “They stand for joy and happiness.” Thorin’s finger moved to a dull pink stone. “Unakite is an offer of love – literally we translate it as ‘accept my love’”.

Bilbo nodded. “What about this one?” he asked, indicating a stone that glowed red-orange like a burning ember.

“Carnelian.” Thorin paused. “It, ah… represents desire.”

Bilbo felt his ears turning pink, and cleared his throat. “Right. And lastly,” he indicated a soft pink crystal, “would I be correct in guessing that this is quartz?”

“It is rose quartz,” Thorin said softly. “It stands for love. And the love of a Dwarf is given but once.”

“Well,” Bilbo said. His face was doing something strange; he could feel it. “Well.” His feet tapped a brisk tattoo on the floor. “That… certainly clarifies a few things.”

“You do not have to…” Thorin began. His face was tense and drawn. “I would not want…”

“Oh, confound and blast and BOTHER you, Thorin, you silly Dwarf!” Bilbo burst out, fumbling with the clasp of the brooch. “Help me put it on right this instant!”

Thorin’s face opened like a flower as he gazed at Bilbo. Not looking away, barely blinking, he rose from his chair.

“Bilbo,” he said, lingeringly over the syllables like a caress. The rough pads of his fingers brushed gently against Bilbo’s hand as he took the brooch, flicking the clasp open with a practiced gesture. With the lightest possible touch, which nonetheless sent shivers down Bilbo’s spine, Thorin pinned the brooch to the shoulder of Bilbo’s tunic.

“Wear this,” he said, “and I will know what to think.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, his voice strained and inadequate in his own ears. “Thorin, I – I feel I should have spoken to you sooner, but…”

Thorin’s finger touched his lips, silencing him. “No, Bilbo – if I may not apologise, you may not either.” He smiled fully for the first time, and Bilbo’s knees nearly buckled from the warmth of it.

“There is just one thing that I will allow you to say,” Thorin continued.

“Oh indeed?” Bilbo drew himself up, feigning affront even though he could feel a smile of his own threatening to split his head in two. “And just what might that be?”

“Why, Bilbo – _my_ Bilbo,” Thorin murmured as he drew Bilbo to him, “I would like to know what all the flowers meant.”

Bilbo paused, halfway melted into Thorin’s embrace. “Actually” he said, “I’ve just remembered: there’s another bunch in my room.”

“They can wait,” Thorin said firmly, and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear recipient, a very happy Hobbit Holiday season to you! I hope you enjoyed this - I certainly had a lot of fun writing it :)
> 
> Author's Note: The languages of flowers and stones have many variations (about as many as there are sources). I have chosen the most appropriate meanings I could for the flowers and gems in this fic, but some authorial license has been used to make them fit the plot. I have also used some old-fashioned versions of flower names (such as Jessamine for Jasmine) when it sounded more Hobbit-y.
> 
> Happy Hobbit Holiday!


End file.
